This Insanity
by Razi Stranger
Summary: Alone in his cell but his stone friends and the occasional visit of Bellatrix LeStrange, Harry Potter has succumbed to madness. M for some swearing, blood and disturbing themes. Prolly gonna stay a oneshot, at least for now.


**READ THIS!!!**

**Summary****: **Harry Potter was captured by the Dark Lord and put in a cell. How will he cope with it? Pairings and warnings are inside. (This is not what it seems like. Probably)

**Warning****: **Rating; Mature. Blood, violence, torture, slash, rape, Insane!Evil!Sadistic!Masochistic!Harry (O_x). These will probably be in this story. If any of these things makes you feel squeamish, you shouldn't be reading this.

**Pairings****: **Harry/Bellatrix, Harry/Lucius, Harry/Voldemort, Voldemort/Bellatrix. (These will be in the story)

**Possible pairings: **Harry/Draco, Harry/Narcissa, Harry/Malfoys, Harry/RandomDeathEater. (These may be in the story, depending on how I feel about it (and what you guys think, of course ;D))

**A/N: **There, the prologue of the first ever story I post on the net. Well, not prologue, and not really a 'story' either. It might end up a collection of snapshots from after this thing happened. Possibly before, too. I really don't know what to do with this thing.

**A/N 2: **This is also just an experiment, really, and an attempt to get a kick start for my writers-mojo. It might turn out to be nice, it might just be a stupid… thing. And some of it might end up being way to close to another story I'm thinking of…

Words: 1719

This Insanity

Chapter 1

He sat in his small, bloody, dirty cell, staring at the wall in front of him, feeling his dull aches all over his body. The cell had been his home for quite some time now. And he felt at home in it. _Kinda cozy…_ And that was what made him so sure of his present thoughts.

He was absolutely, off his rocker, batshit bonkers, and he knew it. And really, he was fine with it too. He wouldn't have survived here, if his _slightly _twisted mind hadn't decided that it wasn't so bad.

He just sat there, cracking a misplaced grin, while musing over his own insanity. _Could've been worse, _he decided. _I mean, Bella does visit me once in a while._ The last time she did, he was left barely breathing, broken, and unable to move anything. All that, and he was bleeding from his _eyes._ But he had forgiven her for that. She was his only visitor, now-a-days. He started humming, terribly off key, smiling a bit wider. He actually looked forward to her next visit. It got boring, counting (and naming) the stones in his wall, after all.

He was also pretty sure that Gregory, stone number 347, didn't like Bella much. _You'll have to deal with it,_ he scolded Gregory. _She's my only friend, after all. Well except you guys. But I don't think you count. _ He promptly fell into laughing hysterics at his own bad pun. Oh yeah, he had it bad. He fancied Gregory had sighed in exasperation at his bad humour.

_Oh, shut it. It's better to have bad humour than having none. You stone faced bas-..._ And he fell over laughing again, clutching his sides. Then, he suddenly frowned, looking dismayed, and a bit confused. _When the hell is Bella coming to visit?_ Bellatrix Lestrange's last visit had been a couple of weeks ago. She usually came at least twice a month.

He really, really wanted her to come to him, now. He wondered what they would be playing this time. Their games always hurt him, and he would hurt for days after. But when they were playing, both were laughing with glee. Some screaming thrown into the mix, and it was real fun, for the both of them. He never, ever had wondered why he was the only one in pain during their fun, but really, he knew. Just because he was nuts, didn't mean he was stupid. He had some of his memories, but not nearly all of them.

One of the stones, number 174, snorted at him, sending semi-amused stone vibes at him. _Oh, shut up, Draco. I may not remember all, but I still remember you, shitface. _He stretched his body, trying to kick Draco-the-stone. In the end, it was too much of a hassle, and he settle for just scowling nastily at him. He could practically feel the gloating victory vibes rolling off Draco-the-stone. _Like I said, shut it. Asshole._ Nothing more was said to Draco-the-stone, and any and all vibes coming off him was expertly ignored.

It was no wonder the guards, while they still were considered needed, had wondered at his mood swings after about a year in the cell. What, with the stoned in the walls "talking" to him, that is.

Gods, had it been that long? He looked at his "calendar" (Really, it was just your average prison cell carve-once-a-day calendar. But, still, he was proud of it.). It had cost him 31 of his stones to make that, and all of them were properly mourned.

Coincidently, Jimmy, Jamie and James were the names of some of them. He didn't miss them the tiniest bit as much as some of the others. Mike had been a particularly hard parting. He even cried a bit for him. Why he hadn't just skipped over Mike? Well, that was anyone's guess.

But anyways, back to the calendar. If his calculations were correct (just to have it said, his "calculations" didn't consist of much more than counting and some guesswork) it was his birthday. His mouth widened into a huge grin. Or a smirk, it was hard to tell which. Whatever it was, it was wide enough to make his chapped and dry lips crack. Some blood dribbled down his chin and he made a swipe at it with his tongue, licking it up and tasting it. His smile dimmed a bit at the taste. He scowled a bit, tasting it. Not all that good, but it would have to do. It was his birthday, and he refused to make do with the muddy water he was usually provided with. It was a special day, and it called for a special treat.

The small, small, small sliver of sanity he still had left could only be fascinated at his own morbidness. Oh well, so maybe that sanity just was a bit of not-so-extreme insanity? He thought it over again, and it should come as no surprise that he fell over, howling with laughter, again. After he managed to come down from his own personal little comedy-cloud he scrambeled over the, admittedly short, distance of his floor. He picked up a small, dusty cup, and blew off what he could of the various types of dirt, to make it a bit cleaner.

Not that it would make a difference, really. Everything in his home was dirty. There was also blood over a good part of the tiny cell, too. Particularly in the area around Gregory. That was where Bella had smashed his head against the wall, so he had bled all over it. _Maybe that's why he doesn't like her? _

He cut off the train of thought before it could start. He had task to complete. He didn't have things to do around there often, and when he had, they were welcomed. He went about it vigorously, scrambling around for the piece of sharp rock he had used to carve the calendar. When he finally found it, he cracked his trademark grin, before going slightly still. He was faced with a dilemma, not a very big one, mind you, but he stopped to think.

Where; where should he cut? He tried going over the places he had been cut before. That turned out to be many, too many to count, and he allowed himself a pause in his task, just tracing his scars, with both eyes and fingers. He came across one, and let himself be intrigued. Memories came with it, memories of a rat. The Rat. _Wormtail. _The rat had _hurt_ him. The Lord had, too, but he couldn't hate the Lord. Bella liked the Lord. That was enough for him, even though Bella had probably hurt him the most.

This scar had been inflicted by the Rat. He wanted to change it. And with that, he set to work.

Many of Voldemort's Death Eaters would have been haunted by the sight of this boy, sitting in the middle of his tiny cell, carefully carving into his arm with a jagged rock. But nobody was there to vitness it. He hadn't been this concentrated in... He didn't know how long. He watched carefully as the tip of the rock slid painfully into his arm. He was panting, but not from pain only. It was a different kind of pain than anything he had ever felt. It felt so _sweet..._ Sweeter than anything Bella had ever done... He almost let himself get too carried away, he almost cut too deep. He knew what would kill him and what would not. He carefully, but firmly, slid the rock down his arm, along the old scar, mauling it even more with the rock's jaggedness.

He sat, watching it bleed for a while, before snapping to attention and bringing the cup up to the wound, filling it with the crimson liquid. He tore off a part of his old shirt, the only one he had. He wrapped the piece of dirty fabric around his wound, stemming the bleeding. When he thought his arm would be okay, he turned his attentions to the cup that was filled with his own _life._

He leaned his back against one of the walls, holding the cup gingerly with his left hand, supporting himself against the floor with the right. Hesitantly, he brought the cup up to his lips, tipping it slightly.

The moment the blood slid across his lips and into his mouth, he knew he had snapped completely. He savoured the taste, even though he didn't particularly like it. The taste of blood, it was unique. He didn't have to like it to feel like he _needed_ it. Not physically, but mentally. The liquid had soothed his parched throat, and soon he was chuckling darkly. Just because he _knew_ he had gone that last inch towards Insanity.

Then he whispered to himself, using his voice; "Happy Birthday Ha—"Then he started coughing. He scowled inwardly while violent coughs racked his body. Finally, the coughing receded, and he allowed himself to think. He had used his voice many times. After all, he had mad laughing fits several times a day. He couldn't say... That name. It was the name of the one he used to be; before he started dipping into insanity.

He smirked madly. He had given a lot of names since his imprisonment; he could find one for himself.

He picked up the cup of blood, and unceremoniously tossed back the rest of the blood, some of it spilling over his chin, before dripping down to his shirt.

"Happy Birthday, Adrian," he said, before giving in to the giggles tempting to take over.

"You know," a cold voice said, "It's not your birthday until twelve days from now." It was said almost airily, as if the one who talked was talking about the weather.

The newly named Adrian stiffened at the voice. It was the first thing he had heard in weeks, besides the noises he made himself. Adrian sat up slowly, still not turning to see who had talked. He already knew. Adrian turned his head slowly, and his eyes came to rest upon Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Lord," he acknowledged, before turning to Bellatrix, who was grinning madly, "Bella," he hissed appreciatively, "I wondered when I would be seeing you."

_---^x...haaaah...x^---_

So, what do you guys think about this thing? Love it? Hate it? Should it continue? Should I kill it?

C'mon it's my first story ever to be brandished on the net, please leave an opinion. Or some constructive criticism. Yeah, that'd be hot. (xD)


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